The 221b Shuffle
by Maevelyn
Summary: The tea is on, the fire is crackling in the fireplace, and the ipod is on shuffle. A collection of songfics.


Lets Cheers to This – Sleeping with Sirens Prompt

John had been being more absent lately, Sherlock was irritated to note. His doctor was spending more time out in the pubs with Lestrade and the imbeciles from the Yard. He was also attending more functions with his fellow doctors, and a bit more time looking for ladies. He felt him slipping away. This couldn't happen. Not when he and John had the whole world in front of them. The crimes, the adrenaline, it was his life chasing the vagrants and vagabonds through London. He wanted John to be a part of this life, and he could feel him losing interest. He would rather watch trash telly than go running off with Sherlock after a long, hard day at the surgery. A small part of Sherlock sympathized, but his own selfish interests quickly stamped that out.

"John," he said, one night as he was perched in his armchair reading next to the fire. "John?"

"Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" John answered, folding the newspaper up and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You haven't been out on a case with me in two weeks." Sherlock said petulantly, "and I've been without your help."

"You managed alright before you had me with you," said John. "Why do you need me now?"

Sherlock could have said many things, he wanted to say that he _needed_ John, that he _craved_ his company, but he said nothing.

"John," he continued, "I have become so used to you it is difficult to do without you now."

"It's not all about you," said John, "I like to rest sometimes and just… get a break from it all."

"Alright," said Sherlock, swallowing hard. "John, you are a big part of my life."

Everything in Baker Street seemed to freeze.

"Yes?" John said, after a couple minutes.

"You heard me right and I am _not _saying it again. You have become absolutely indispensable. You keep me right, keep me alive, keep me…happy…" he let his voice trail off at the last part of that sentence. Mustering up his courage, he continued, "and I'll be damned if I let that get away, now that everything seems to be… good. I have barely heard anything from you in the last three days. I thought that… this was our time. To… solve crimes together. To… be together…and…"

"Sherlock?" asked John, wondering what the hell his flatmate was on about.

"It all comes down to this. I… like you," Sherlock said lamely.

"Right, well, I _like _you too, you daft sod. I promise I'll come out with you to some sort of crime scene this week."

"Yes," said Sherlock.

"As a… bloody hell, Sherlock, what are you trying to say? Is this a… I don't know, a _I'm Sherlock Holmes and I have no emotions and I need you like some sort of tool thing_, or is this a _I'm Sherlock Holmes and I don't know how to say I have a friend thing?_"

"No," said Sherlock finally, "this is a sort of… I am… well… what I was asking was…"

It dawned properly on John.

"Sherlock," said John. "Do you think that a…crime scene is a proper—no. We have not been going to crime scenes – dating, Sherlock, is that what you were thinking? A date at a bloody crime scene?"

"I… well…I thought it would be nice," said Sherlock, "but as I understand it, you neither care for the crime scenes nor to go out on a…date." He swallowed the last word, almost mortified. He moved to pick up his violin and turned his back on John.

"No, you silly sod," said John, standing and grabbing Sherlock's shoulder to turn him around. "I like the crime scenes too. I like you. I just don't – oh, bloody hell Sherlock, I just don't think that a crime scene is a good place for a date, people usually go to, oh hell, the movies, or a pub, or.."

He never got to finish that sentence, because Sherlock, in his rare displays of affection, had crushed the shorter man to his chest.

"Er," said John into Sherlock's shirt, "not that this isn't nice, but there's a rather lovely –"

"Cafe, yes, ten minute walk."

"You could not have possibly known that, that – that was a guess!" said John, laughing through his annoyance at having been rudely cut off.

"You wanted us to go somewhere. Preferably now, because you thought I was getting the wrong impression from you, so you wanted to solidify a… relationship?" Sherlock left that hang as a question and continued. "You wanted to go somewhere, preferably close because you want to be back home at tea to see Mrs. Hudson and badger her about her hip medicine. A café it is, then, because it's not time for a meal so you probably want to get coffee because food and dates are generally equated, also because you want to guilt me into—"

"Into eating," said John, "and as long as we are in a _relationship_, as you put it, you are going to eat to keep yourself alive. I'm not a necrophiliac."

"That hardly makes sense, as firstly, I have no intention of starving, and secondly, you would follow the normal procedure of either burying me or cremating me, you wouldn't just…hang on to a body, that's illegal and you're too queen and country to do that."

"Anyways," said John, his jaw set and his soldier stance returning, "we are going to coffee. As a date. And you are going to eat."

"Right," he said, letting go of his doctor.

"You know, I've been waiting to try to say something to you, too," said John as they sat in the window seat at the little café.

"Yes?" said Sherlock.

"I haven't even looked for a, a date with anybody in… a few months?" he said, lamely. "All those long nights alone, knowing you were just downstairs…"

"Right," said Sherlock, unsure of what to say. "I must warn you," he said, "I'm possessive. I'm still… me, a very ridiculous man, redeemed only by your presence in my life. I'm the most ignorant, unapologetic arsehole you have ever had the misfortune to meet. And I'm extremely unlikely to write cards with poetry or… I don't know, draw swans for you, or-"

"That's quite alright," said John, "I'm a bloke, I'm happy without hearts and flowers."

"Good," said Sherlock, "I'm not letting go of you. Ever. So. Don't slip away…"

"No, you git," said John, "I can't just be your property, that's not how a relationship works. It's based on…trust, and communication, and…belonging to each other."

"I'm your git," said Sherlock simply, as if it were the obvious answer.

"Very well then," answered John, leaning back and taking a sip of his coffee. The taste of coffee and a new beginning would linger on his tongue when he kissed Sherlock for the first time, on the stairs to 221b.

_I've got the whole world in front of me_

_I'm not letting go 'til I say_

_This is my life_

_Don't slip away_


End file.
